Chapter 40: Salvatore

Chapter 40: Salvatore
She was already moving.

The towel clung to her hips as she dug into the closet, hair dripping little puddles along the hardwood. She didn’t bother drying off. Didn’t even flinch when I turned toward her. It wasn’t performative—none of this was for me. She was focused. Present. Like her body had finally caught up to her mind.

She pulled out her tightest black jeans and a long-sleeve crop top with a plunging back that exposed the dip of her spine. The towel dropped to the floor, and I stayed rooted to the spot, watching her move like she had no idea I was there. Or maybe like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Like she knew I wouldn’t look away.

She wasn’t getting dressed for war.

She was dressing for revenge.

The way other women might dress for a date or a funeral.

“Where is he?” she asked without turning, voice crisp as she pulled her curls into a ponytail, still wet and heavy.

“An old safehouse on the edge of Coral Gables,” Apollo answered from the door, arms crossed over his chest. “He’s not alone. Couple guards. A lieutenant. Gio says we hit it tonight.”

Eden grinned. It wasn’t innocent. It wasn’t even human. It was holy. Violent. Euphoric.

“I hope he begs.”

Apollo let out a low whistle and looked over at me. “You good with this, boss?”

I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on her. On the girl who once needed protecting and now walked like a goddamn executioner.

“We let her lead.”

Apollo arched a brow—half impressed, half cautious—but he didn’t question it. No one questioned her anymore. Not since they watched her slice a man open like it was poetry.

Eden turned toward me slowly, checking her gun, adjusting the strap on her thigh holster. She didn’t speak, didn’t smile. Just watched me through heavy lashes, assessing.

“You ready?” I asked her.

She met my gaze through the mirror. Her reflection looked back like it belonged to someone else—a woman with bloodlust in her smile and a storm in her bones.

“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

And I believed her.

She wasn’t just unafraid. She was alive.

Unleashed.

I moved toward her, wrapped my arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into me with the kind of weight that meant trust—real, earned trust—and for a second, I forgot about the safehouse. Forgot about Angelo. Forgot everything except the way she fit in my arms and the pulse I could feel beating in her chest.

“You know I’ve got you, right?” I said against her hair.

She nodded once. “I know.”

“I don’t care how far you go. I’m right there. Behind you. Always.”

Her hands found my chest, eyes flicking up like she was about to say something more. Something dangerous. But then she kissed me. Fast. Fierce. Like a warning or a promise—I couldn’t tell.

Apollo cleared his throat from the door.

“I can give you two a minute—”

“No,” Eden said, already strapping her knife to her hip. “Let’s go.”

She walked past him without a glance, steps clean and controlled, like she’d already killed him in her mind and was just replaying it in real time.

Apollo blinked. “Y’all… might be crazy.”

I laughed once, shaking my head, grabbing my own gun from the nightstand.

“Yeah,” I said under my breath. “But we’re crazy in love.”

He didn’t hear me. But it didn’t matter.

I followed her into the hall, watching her silhouette move like a shadow ahead of me.

This was the same girl who used to cry herself to sleep on the floor of her room. Who used to sneak downstairs after Sergio left just to feel safe. Who used to eat crackers at the kitchen table while I talked about marine biology, trying to distract her from the hell she never told anyone she was living in.

And now?

Now she was marching to war.

And I would follow her straight into the fire.

Because no matter how many people she killed—

No matter how much blood she spilled—

She was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

And for the first time in my life, loving someone made me feel more like myself.

Not less.